


The Alchemy Initiative: prompt collection

by thestarsandi



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Team Awesome (Disney: Tangled), how do i fluff, potential Character Death, read chapter content warnings, that one is up to you tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsandi/pseuds/thestarsandi
Summary: Series of one-shots for The Alchemy Initiative prompt submissionsChapter 7: free choice_______It is underneath the moon that old friends collide. But it was never meant to last.After all, traitors to Saporia pay with their lives._______
Comments: 62
Kudos: 182





	1. Reunion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Reunion  
> ...
> 
> Varian finds Rapunzel after the Saporian airship explodes.

He finds her in the village center, crouched on her knees as the golden glow fades from her hair and the last remnants of green burn out in the sky, leaving only dusty debris to rain down upon them. She is surrounded by Eugene and Lance—a trio of shared embraces and tremulous grins. The sight is enough to grind his mad sprint to a halt.

He—he _can’t—_

He can't face them. Not now—not after all he had done—had still almost done.

But her _eyes.._. Green pools of shimmering light that somehow still contain all the warmth of the sun even as dusk settles over the kingdom peel open to meet his own. They share a sustained gaze, neither quite courageous enough to speak the words in their hearts, yet not quite able to look away, either.

He thinks his heart might erupt—might shatter into a billion jagged shards and tear a bleeding hole into his too-tight chest. Or maybe he’s just gonna be sick.

“You’re okay,” he speaks softly, instead. And she is, miraculously. He had seen the explosion of flames in the sky. He had seen her fall. Yet here she is. Her death is not yet on his hands, it appears.

He only wonders how much longer it will take before it is.

The two men pull back from the princess, turning their wary glares on him. His throat spasms with an overwhelming sense of—of fear? But...shouldn't he be angry? They— _they had betrayed him!_ They had abandoned him! They—

But no. He isn't angry. Not anymore.

And he suddenly longs to say so. He is so suddenly overcome with an inexplicable desire to pour out the raging flood of emotions—fury, regret, guilt, grief—so that, perhaps, he would not have to bear their weight any longer. He does not think he could take it. He does not think he could keep himself standing for a moment longer beneath their heavy burden.

But as he opens his mouth to speak—or scream or weep, he does not know anymore—he finds his tongue only moving in the same pattern it had before. “You—you’re—you’re okay.”

And maybe it’s something in his quivering voice or his cracking expression that brings the scaffolding crashing down once and for all, for not even a second later he is encompassed entirely in her arms.

And he _breaks_.

Silent sobs wrack his frame while shaking hands grip tightly to any piece of her he can touch. She is alive. She is alive. She’s okay. She forgives him. She—

_She forgives him._

And he does not hear the soothing words being whispered in his ear, but he feels their pull. He feels their delicate touch as it wraps around his beating heart and stitches the broken pieces back together. He feels their radiant heat that lights a fire in his veins and allows his blood to flow once more, a sluggish stream that slowly carries life to every distant fiber of his being.

_He—he is—_

“Welcome back, Varian. Welcome home.”


	2. Pride.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pride  
> Challenge: first-person pov  
> ...
> 
> Varian will make his father proud. Of course he will.

The boats rock gently in time with each passing ocean wave. It’s dusk—late evening as the sun slowly sinks below the horizon, sending streaks of a fiery crimson dancing across the sky. 

_The sun…_

Well, I’m happy to see it go. 

But then, it’s back. Not the burning orb I’ve grown to resent, but _her_. The _princess_ —the _pride and joy_ of a kingdom that would just as soon silence resistance than reveal the depths of corruption that have choked it through and through. The embodiment of light and all things _good and kind._

The thought arouses an unstifled scoff in my throat. _Yeah right._

She’s sitting in one of the boats, swaying in that same lulling motion as soundless words drift past her lips. Likely more lies. I loathe to hear them—to hear another single word spew from her mouth lest she try to _promise_ me anything again. 

_Promise_. 

I know, first-hand, just how well she keeps promises. 

But she is also my only chance to reach the flower. Right now, she is the only chance I have to save my father from de—from the amber that I— _she_ caused. 

_Take the flower. Free my father._

Simple. 

Steeling myself with a last, tumultuous exhale, I drop into the boat while her back is turned, bracing against the sharp dip into the waters beneath lest I lose my balance and fall into her. Minimal contact and all. 

But, of course, the first thing she does upon turning around is pull me into her leeching embrace—her arms curling around me in such suffocating proximity that is entirely for the sake of her own comfort rather than mine. 

As if betrayal—as if abandoning me to the wrath of her people and her soldiers can be mended with a _hug_. 

I do not return the display—cannot fathom returning it, really—but I do not back away. I need her trust, after all. 

_Take the flower. Free my father._

I’ll make him proud. Of course I will. 

* * *

Sounds are raging in my ears, a thunderous roar and echo of crescendoing yells, screeching metal. Flurries of movement dance in my periphery—a swarm of guards and—and _friends_ —

No. They aren’t friends anymore. But, really, had they ever been?

This is it: my last stand. My last chance. My father’s last hope. 

_The drill didn't work. The drill didn't work. I had failed—I was wrong—_

_~~It was my fault.~~ _

The world around me is painted with crimson—a striking flood of red, _all red_ , that encompasses my vision with each lasting glare through the glass before me. It had been a last-minute choice to use red in the window. A subconscious desire to not watch that line be crossed—to not see the blood that may be spilled by my own hand because if I did…?

I _have_ to free my father. _Whatever it takes._

And then my hands are moving of their own volition—grabbing the queen, grabbing _Cassandra_ within my metal clutches and I am squeezing—squeezing—. Rapunzel is yelling and I am yelling but, still, I am squeezing—crushing the life right out of them and it hurts! It’s hurting them and somewhere deep inside it’s hurting me but I can't _stop_. 

This is it! This is all I have left! The flower didn't work and the drill didn't work and—and—

And black rocks spew from the earth, erupting out of the ground in an endless and senseless pattern. They surround the princess, encapsulating her—no, _protecting_ her!

From—from _me?_

But...I never wanted to hurt her. Not really, I don't think. I only wanted to save my father. I only wanted to make him proud. 

And I will. 

I’ll make him proud. Of course I will.

* * *

I cannot stop the shiver that wracks my body, each bone groaning obscenely with the sudden movement. A chill sweeps through the room, only exacerbated by the occasional splashes of frigid rainwater that spill through the window and onto my skin. 

Trust Corona to care less about the drainage system around the dungeons. 

Trust Corona to care less about its prisoners. 

To care less about _me._

The wind howls a song of shrill agony—a mournful melody that whips through the trees and around the bends in the village until its grating tones reach my ears and whisper to me their woes. 

Or perhaps they’re only the cries of my own. 

Three months. It’s been three months since the battle—since I had failed. Three long months of rotting in prison while my father rotted in a tomb of my creation. Three months since the princess had waged for my defeat, then left me here to snivel and sulk. 

I hadn't seen her since. 

(Had she forgotten about me? Or did she just not care?)

No—I haven't seen much of anything here. Only the occasional guard, either scorching me with their contemptuous glares of derision or drowning me in their stupid glances of _pity_. 

_Pity_. 

I don't need it. I never did. There’s—there’s still hope, there’s still a way. I’m sure of it! I—I just have to find a way out of the cell and back to my home—my—

Is it still my home? Had it ever been?

And my father…

Surely there is something still to try, some way still to save him. I haven't failed—not yet. I couldn't have—I—I— _I couldn't have_ —! I need to be free, I need to escape! One more moment in this cell and I’ll combust. I can’t—I can't take it anymore!

 _I need out—I need out—my father needs out_ — _I need out—_

My father. 

Do I still have a father to save? Will I still have a father to save when this is all over? Had he ever had the chance to be saved or had he perished the moment that amber closed around him? 

~~Has he been dead all this time?~~

Or does he still breathe—still _feel_ all the feelings and the clenching grip of deadly stone that has wormed its way around him? Does he still see through unblinking eyes and hear through muffled ears? Does he know what I’ve done? 

Would he be proud of me now?

No...I don't think he would be.


	3. Mistake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mistake  
> Challenge: Angst (pffft--when _don't_ I write angst tbh)
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: blood and injury  
> (no character death. he lives :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, can you believe it?!  
> A whole challenge dedicated to just producing angst!! (as if that’s not what ALL my chapters are, but that’s beside the point).

It was a thunderous rumble that drew them out of their thoughts, the sound being their only warning before the rocks upon which they sat began a sudden retreat into Cassandra’s tower. The air was split by a harsh, grating screech that vibrated within their skulls and bones as the indestructible stone was forced to move against itself under the unheard command of its wielder.

It was enough to cause alarm, but, for Varian—already having suffered an injurious blow from the rocks earlier—, the unexpected movement threw him off balance entirely. The boy harshly fell to the side, landing on the right side of his chest. He choked on the gasp that erupted from his throat, biting down on his tongue until the slight taste of iron filled his mouth.

_Oh yeah..._

Busted ribs do tend to be a side effect of blunt force trauma to the chest.

His mind flashed with a reminder of its cause—of _his mistake_. An arm, extended outward—pleading for her hand in return. _Had he pushed too hard?_ Callous words slipping from his tongue, desperate to make her _see_ —to make her realize this path would not bring her what she desired. _A villain._ He had called her that. And it had only made things worse. A reckless grab for her arm, an impulsive attempt to stop her from destroying the portrait—from destroying that last tether to her old life. If he could stop her, maybe he could bring her _back_.

And then—a surge of black rocks, heeding her beckoning call and colliding with his chest. The force had been enough to take the air from his lungs.

And apparently it had been enough to break bone.

But it had been his fault, hadn't it? His mistake? He had pushed her too far—he should've been able to reach her, he should've saved her.

_So didn't he deserve this?_

From the other side of the black bars containing him—restraining him in a prison he had hoped to never set foot in again _(walls—stone walls—he was back, he was—he had never really left...)_ —Eugene turned his attention to the boy, scrutinizing the sudden tightness of his features that revealed the pain his silenced tongue longed to hide.

“Kid? What’s the matter...are you hurt?”

Had he been hurt all this time? Had Varian been secretly drowning in pain and misery while he sat within arm’s length, none the wiser? What if—he—could he die? What if he was hurt so terribly that he could've died before Eugene’s very eyes and Eugene would’ve had no idea _why—_

But the shadows of the tower encompassed them again before the man could think or utter even a single word more.

It really was just one problem after another today, wasn't it?

“Welcome back, boys. Let me help you out.” Cassandra’s jeering taunts were followed by a wave of black rocks that danced across the floor to Eugene, snaking up his sides and wrapping him tightly in their frigid embrace. Their master sauntered towards him, each step precise and mocking.

“You won't fight me,” her voice was dangerous—a loud echo in the empty chamber that ricocheted off each crack and crevice, sounding back in their ears with a sharp threat that slit their flesh with its razor edge, “but will you fight _for him?”_

“Cass, leave him alone!” The sound of her voice startled Varian, the boy only just now realizing Rapunzel was in the room at all. And she was—strung up on the wall by a noose of her own golden locks.

She spoke with effort, a breathy undertone decorating the otherwise firm front she was attempting to display, but Varian could hear the silent gasps that followed each word. No doubt it was hurting her to be held in such a position, mounted to cold stone like an animal that had been hunted for sport and finally caught.

He— _he had to do something._ They had come for him. It was his fault they were there in the first place—it was his foolishness that had forced them all to come. It was his foolish mistake that was now putting them in danger.

_The scroll—the incantation—_

If he had just been able to keep his damn mouth _shut_ , then perhaps they would not be there now. They would not be there—for him. All because he needed _rescuing_. Because he was too incapable on his own.

There would be blood and it would be on _his_ hands. They would die and it would be _his_ fault.

_Mistake after mistake after mistake._

“Rapunzel! I have the final incantation—you have to use it!” His own voice was desperate, clinging to the last shred of hope he had that he could somehow get them out of there _alive_. This incantation—it had been on the scroll, it was from Demanitus so it had to _help_.

It had to save _them_ , even if not himself.

In the chamber of the tower, Varian’s words drifted seamlessly, alerting Cassandra of his move just as Pascal snatched the scroll from his gloved fists.

“Final incantation? What is he talking about?” Her eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze upon the boy. She thought she had made herself clear.

But apparently not.

The ghost of her companion appeared beside her, commanding her to forget his insolence, but Cassandra paid her no mind. The blood was pounding in her ears, crescendoing rapidly with the sudden rage that swelled in her chest—a seething crimson not so different from the red that now blinded her vision.

How— _how dare he—_

“What did I say about trying anything foolish?” Her tone was venomous, striking out in crystal shards that were enough to freeze Varian on the spot. “You—you _dare_ try to keep this from me? Do you think you can _outwit_ me? You may be smart, kid, but you just made a big _mistake_.”

_Mistake._

_Another mistake._

With that, Cassandra thrust out her hand, calling forth the black rocks once again. Eugene and Rapunzel could do little more than shout before there was a burst of light. Indestructible stone struck its brethren, shattering Varian's prison upon impact—no trial nor jury nor defense.

Before he could react, a second wave crashed over him, but they did not pierce his flesh or crush his bones as he would have expected. Rather, they crawled along his limbs and up his body, encasing him in their suffocating arms much the same as Eugene.

_And then they squeezed._

All at once, the air vacated his withered lungs as every muscle and fiber in his being groaned out their obscene protests. His chest grew tight, a strange mixture of the lack of air and the crushing weight that closed in on his already damaged ribs. Varian opened his mouth to speak—to call out to Cass’s humanity and beg her to _stop_ , but he could not give the words breath when he had none at all. All that emitted was a gasp, a gurgling cry of pain, and then something _snapped_ within him.

And it must’ve been loud, for suddenly the rocks around him were no longer squeezing. Or perhaps it had just been the wretched shout that had been ripped from his throat.

Or...perhaps it was the eruption of golden light that lit every shadowed corner of the room. _Rapunzel_. She was reciting the incantation, calling upon the sun’s magic that resided within her until unbridled power rippled at her fingertips. The air crackled with electricity, some charred scent overwhelming his senses enough to make him slightly gag.

The princess was speaking—she was _shouting_ and Cassandra was shouting and they were a flurry of motion and kaleidoscopic arrays of color, but Varian heard none of it— _saw_ none of it.

Instead, Varian’s vision darkened with spots of black as his chest heaved with a sudden bout of wracking coughs. The air was thick— _too thick_ —and he couldn't breathe. No amount of effort could suck in enough precious oxygen to quell the dizziness that overcame him and his chest tightened once more, this time regardless of the dormant black rocks around him.

He couldn't breathe— _he couldn't breathe—_

Another burst of blinding light shook the tower and then—then the stone was crumbling around him, falling from his body as though it had never been there in the first place. But without the rocks’ support, Varian had nothing left to keep him upright—no prison and certainly no strength left in his bones—, sending him crashing to the ground the moment he was free.

Eugene, too, must’ve lost his own cage, for the older man was beside him an instant later, grabbing for any bit of the boy he could reach. “Varian? Varian, _look at me_. Can you hear me?”

The words were muffled, sounding as though one of them were under water—or maybe both.

“Varian, I need you to look at me, alright? Tell me what’s wrong, where are you hurt?”

But Varian couldn't answer, for he held no breath to speak. He gasped for air, mouth gaping open like a fish out of water, but, still, he couldn't pull it in. Each failed attempt to inhale the oxygen that taunted him only grated on his tender throat, the flesh raw from his uncontrollable coughs. The back of his mind recognized that Eugene was still speaking, still yelling over the deafening sounds of the battle around them, but Varian could not hear a single word over the static in his skull.

He coughed. And again.

Something bubbled in his throat—a hot, viscous liquid that lit his insides on fire with its raging embers and magma. Another cough and it was in his mouth, choking him once more though he had never really stopped. Another cough and it was dribbling past his lips, traversing the path from the corner of his mouth to his chin—down his neck—

Another rivulet dripped onto the stone floor beneath and, in the flashing rays of golden light, he could see the single spot light up to reveal its crimson color.

 _Blood_.

And perhaps the sight alone would have been enough to give him that final push into darkness, but then Eugene was calling his name, a sound so desperate Varian could hardly ignore it. His neck snapped up to find the face of the man sitting before him, brown and blue orbs locking with one another. Eugene stared hard at Varian’s face, his brows furrowed in undiluted concern.

He was trying to hide it, but Varian could see the fear pooling in his eyes.

“Varian— _Varian!_ Var—that’s right, kid. Eyes on me...keep them on me. You certainly got yourself in quite a pickle, didn't you kid? Did—did Cass do this?”

The last question was spoken faintly—so low Varian wondered if he might have imagined it, but by the imploring expression on the other’s face, he knew he had not. But could he really tell Eugene _yes?_

In the momentary pause—a stillness that settled around them, despite the war that waged on—Varian felt his eyelids flutter, pulled down by an irresistible gravitational force. Perhaps he could sleep, instead. Yes—sleep sounded much better in that moment.

“No— _no._ Varian! Keep your eyes open, kid, remember?” Eugene’s voice was back, disrupting his plan to drift into sweet unconsciousness and Varian had half a mind to push the man away if he had had the strength. “Stay awake. Stay with me— _stay with me—”_

He wanted to speak. He wanted to tell Eugene that he was _right there_ —he wasn't going anywhere. But, just as he did not have the strength to get up and walk out in the way Eugene must have thought he would, he, too, did not have the strength to utter a single word.

Or maybe he just didn't have the air.

Oh. _Oh_ —he couldn't breathe. _He still couldn't breathe._ Every inhale was accompanied only by a choked wheeze and soundless gasp. There was no air— _there was no air._

His hand flailed briefly in the space around him, heart pounding a sudden beat that was surely loud enough to shake the room, but Eugene’s own hand found his quickly, fingers intertwining with his and passing on a reassuring squeeze.

Eugene would fix it. It would be okay.

Varian smiled.

Then, without warning, a magnificent explosion rocked the air. A shrill ringing echoed in Varian’s ears as the blast died down, hardly doing enough to drown out the roars of the tempestuous winds raging with all their might in the space around them. A ball of light as hot and bright as the sun filled his vision, chasing out the few dark spots that had begun to shadow it. But he—he was _sliding._ He was slipping backwards, _away_ from Eugene.

The man tightened his grip while his other hand desperately clutched a nearby rock to keep them in place.

Eugene would keep him safe.

That is, until his fingers slipped from Eugene’s hold.

And without that last lifeline to keep him tethered to the ground—or to anything, really—Varian was sliding, once more. But there was nothing to stop him now. A couple of yards and he’d fall over, and, still, the winds pushed on, carrying him closer to the lethal drop that would await him the minute the ground was gone.

Three feet—closer, closer—another foot— _closer—_

Then he was gone, granted only one last flickering glance to the scene before him—bursting light and cracking stone and Eugene’s face: eyes wide with horror and a continuous scream tearing from his silenced throat. One last lingering shout fled from Varian’s own lips.

It was Eugene’s name.

It had almost been his father’s, but his father wasn't there.

He wished he was.

He wished he had one last chance to speak with him. To say goodbye.

He wished he knew whether the others would live. At least, then, he could go in peace. He could go knowing the red on his hands was not real. That it would fall away with the guilt that plagued his beating heart.

His—his beating heart...

_Thump._

_Thump._

How many beats did it have left? How many last notes of its tragic melody could be sung before it fell silent with his fateful end?

Would it be quick? Would it be painless?

Did he even deserve that?

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

He listened closely to the words of its song—to the sound of its mellifluous voice that spoke its last cries of woe. How it longed for one beat more. He figured, if he listened closely enough, perhaps he would hear its final chord.

Far above, the stars glistened. Perhaps they were tears.

Perhaps they were mourning him.

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump._

And just as his lids fell shut, shrouding him in the darkness at last—just as his heart stuttered out one last, _glorious_ beat—

Two arms closed around him.


	4. Fall Activities.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fall Activities  
> …
> 
> The heat of a burning fire—gazing at the stars beneath an endless sky—blanketed by the chill of a fresh, autumn night—  
>   
> This was the time of year his mother had liked best.  
>   
> Perhaps, when he joined her, they could admire it together. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: character death? no character death? Depends which way you read it

It was the smell of smoke that brought him back from the darkest recesses of his mind. A viscous slime of polluted air that wormed its way into his mouth, curling around his heavy tongue and spilling down his throat so that his body was forced to retaliate with heaving coughs that addled his aching chest and muscles.

His skin burned with the touch of flames—a heat that traced a path of incandescent thirst for flesh and bone. The heat, well...it was almost comforting, really. An embrace of fire to ward off the sudden shivers that wracked his frame. A cocoon of blistering warmth.

If he so put his heart in it, he could imagine it was his father’s arms cradled around him—his father’s chest that stifled his breath with suffocating proximity.

_Heat—smoke—_

Why was there smoke?

Where—his dad—was his dad here? Here...where was _here?_

Where was _he?_

He had been—experimenting, perhaps? Had he been in the lab? Testing—testing—the hot water system for the castle? But... _no, he had finished that months ago_. Testing his design of indestructible steel for the guards’ swords? _But why would there be smoke?_

Smoke—there was smoke—there was fire—there was—

* * *

_“Don’t run too close to the fire, Varian. You’ll get hurt if you fall.”_

_The scolding of an exasperated father succeeded in slowing the young boy’s vivacious movements for only a moment before he was peeling off in the other direction at a speed almost too quick for his tiny, clumsy legs._

_Laughter echoed through the fields, singing the sweet melody of a carefree childhood that nearly drowned out the following call from the man, “Don’t stray too far! Dinner’s on the fire.”_

* * *

The last vestiges of a forgotten memory slipped from his mind as a weight shifted across his torso. Had he felt it, Varian would have been lost to the agony of shattered ribs and scorching heat beneath his skin—a raging fire that seized control of every fiber and screeching nerve—but his mind was somewhere else.

He did not hear the groaning of metal in the space above him, nor the roar of very real flames hungrily burning on.

He only heard the sounds of words spoken on a night so, so long ago.

* * *

_“Why do we come out here, papa?”_

_The air was awash with the gentle thrums of life—all corners and sneaking shadows and climbing ridges hummed with the callings of the earth. The chirps of hidden crickets, the rustling of leaves with the evening wind, the distant shouts of wolves in the forests: all came together with the whispered assurance that father and son were not alone._

_They were nestled up against one another, Varian tucked beneath Quirin’s arm in hopes to escape the fearsome creatures that roamed the night. A fire burned before them, its flames flickering in the darkness and casting eerie shadows on the towering trees that surrounded them._

_Every autumn, the duo would trek through the forests to this very same spot and find a temporary home beneath the stars. His father had called it camping—a chance for them to escape the bustling noise of Old Corona._

_But from the sigh that passed Quirin’s lips—weighted so with resignation and a trace of longing—Varian knew the answer to his question would not be the same that night._

_“Have I ever told you the story of how I first met your mother, Varian?”_

_Small, pink lips jutted out as the young boy thought long and hard, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to draw forth the hazy memories of any mention of his mother._

_After all, there existed very few._

_But when no knowledge of the tale surfaced, he simply shook his head no, turning bright blue, curious eyes back on his father’s shadowed form._

_“It was many years ago, before you had even been born, you see. I had just been elected as the new village leader and we had an awful case of raccoons scavenging through our apple barrels from the harvest. Come nightfall, I had followed their trail into the forests, hoping to chase them away for good, when I came across something—or someone—most unexpected.”_

_Perched so far on the edge of the log he sat upon, young Varian nearly toppled forward as he leaned in further, fully enraptured in his father’s tale. “What was it, papa?”_

_The man gazed down towards his son, a fond, reminiscent smile toying on his lips. “It was a woman—one I had never seen before among the people—, making camp in the frosty, autumn night. She had hair as fiery as her temper when she realized she’d been discovered._

_“I—”_

_“Papa—what was she doing out there, papa? Why was she sleeping in the woods? Didn't she have a house? I don’t know what I’d do without a house, papa.”_

_Chuckling, one large hand snaked down to ruffle his son’s unruly hair. “Well, son, I asked her that very question. And you know what she told me?”_

_“What?”_

_“She said, matter-of-factly, ‘The stars don’t look nearly as good in the village.’ Simple as that, nothing more, nothing less. And you know what, Varian?”_

_“What, papa?”_

_“She was right.”_

_So together, father and son sat back upon their logs, eyes gazing wistfully into the heavens above and lingering on each and every glittering star that stared back at them. The trees swayed with the cooling breeze, but neither one felt the chill—too immersed in the echoing sounds of a woman’s laughter—feeling, instead, the warm touch of ghostly hands upon their skin._

_And, at their feet, the fire crackled on._

* * *

The memory had been one nearly forgotten—brought forth to Varian’s mind only by the nostalgic scent of burning flames and billowing smoke, by the enclosing heat that wrapped around his still form.

Every year, once the first autumn chill struck the air, he and his father would wander to the woods and make camp for a few days. As Varian grew older and his curiosity stronger, Quirin had reasoned they needed a break from the village. He had never mentioned his mother—never brought up her memory again after that night.

But Varian had never forgotten it.

He knew the real reason for their journey was so they could be closer to her—so they could hear her laughs a little more clearly, feel her touch a little more deeply. She had always had an affinity for the stars, perhaps as much as she had for alchemy.

So it was in the stars that they always found her.

Yelling registered in the corners of his mind—the sound so far away, he wondered if he might have imagined it. But the sound never ceased, pounding in his ears and throbbing against his temples as the voices reached a crescendoing volume. It was too far from his consciousness for Varian to accurately place to whom the shouts belonged, but there was an itching familiarity to their tones he could not ignore.

What had he done now? What request did they have for him?

Was it his fault? Would he fail?

But, as he listened, the ringing tones of panicked screams morphed into a sound that ricocheted off the inner walls of his own skull—much louder, yet somehow even further away…

* * *

_The air was split with the screeching yells of a boy as he dashed through the canopy of trees lining Old Corona’s fields. The sun was setting, coloring the sky with a breathtaking array of brilliant streaks of red and orange and yellow magma that stretched as far as the eye could see._

_The day was closing, serving as an encouraging nudge for the boy’s father to finish the task before him while he still had any light left by which to see. His attempts to keep a straight face and firm voice were shaky which each passing blur of the rambunctious child._

_“You best pay attention, son. After all, it will be only a few more years before you’re old enough to be assisting in the harvest! This is a very important job for all of our people, for the village relies on this bounty for food in the cold months to come.”_

_His words were for naught, however, as Varian carried on despite his calls, tiny legs ceaseless in their motions, steadfast in their mission to carry him as far and as fast through the fields of pumpkins and the orchards of apple trees as possible._

_With only one more passing moment of watching his son’s dash, Quirin, too, couldn't stop the warming beat of his heart that constricted with such a fond emotion for the boy. And, without fail, work quickly fell to the wayside._

_Like every night before this one, the evening saw father and son chasing one another across the lands to the audience of the setting sun._

_Their laughter and shouts danced through the air, mingling with the autumn breeze and drifting through the falling leaves until pirouetting their way to the stars so that his mother might hear their music, as well._

_And later, in the quiet of the night, as they slept beneath the moon’s benevolent gaze, Varian could sometimes hear the returning chimes of a woman’s laugh over the dying cries of the flames._

* * *

His lips twitched with the memory—with the ebbing sounds of his mother’s laugh that had found him that night.

He had thought the sound to be lost forever. But, oh, how pleasantly wrong he was.

The heat was around him now, more than it had been last time his mind resurfaced from the deep, cavernous trenches of a luring unconsciousness. It was hotter, _brighter_ —tracing his flesh with claws that ran bone-deep, drawing forth an ocean of frothing blood that lit his insides with the same fire that burned on the surface.

The weight trapping him in place seemed to shift, igniting an unbearable agony that could not be contained. Screams—grating screams that spoke of treacherous woes and torture sparked and rose in tsunamic waves that crashed over his body with enough force to shatter his bones.

_Screaming—screaming—stop, stop—please, make it stop—_

By the time the white cleared from his vision, the screams had still not died down, but, at last, Varian could place them as his own. His throat was ragged, ripped to shreds of bleeding sinew and tissue that might never heal again.

There were hands on him—the weight was gone, but there were hands on him and it hurt— _it hurt—it hurt._ Every stretch of skin on his writhing frame felt as though it had been peeled away—melted away, perhaps, with the blazing heat that still cradled him relentlessly. Every nerve was crying its endless cry for mercy, begging on hands and knees he could no longer feel.

His breaths were sparse, heaving with gasps for precious oxygen that did not seem to answer his beckoning call. Coughs wracked his form, sending his broken limbs into trembling fits as his broken hands reached out for something— _anything_ —to hold onto, to ground himself to the world around him, for he wasn't so sure there was any world at all, anymore.

No— _no—_

This—this couldn't be _it_ , could it? What had happened, what was happening—he had no idea, but it couldn't be anything other than death. This agony—it did not belong in a body that was living.

Every fiber of his still-beating heart pounded away, racing against the clock to sing as many last chords as it could before time ran out.

_For surely time was about to run out._

So it beat. Again and again and again, each one as adamant and as glorious as the previous, in case it was the last.

One more beat.

One more beat.

One more choking breath.

One more searching grasp.

One more beat.

Then—it stopped: the pain, the noise, the smell, _the fear—_

And when two arms curled beneath his still form and raised him to the sky—to the _stars_ —, Varian imagined to himself they were the arms of his mother, come to cradle him once more.

And he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof yeah I really just said full yes to the angst on this one


	5. Nightmares/Terror.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: nightmares/terror  
> ...  
>   
> Who was he to think he could ever change? Who was he to think he could be better?
> 
> As he meets the gaze of cerulean eyes staring back at him—that same look of fear he had seen two years ago etched into their depths—he realizes he had been nothing but a fool. 
> 
> His fear had been brought to life, and he had no one to blame but himself.

His ears rang with a deafening cry—a song of woe echoing beneath the surfaces of his skull and silencing the world around him, even as the sounds of bloodshed and war carried on.

His vision dimmed, constricting in on itself until he could see nothing but an amber tomb and cerulean eyes staring back at him—cerulean eyes that were frozen, forever etched in pain and fear, as their owner lay in the eternal grasp of death.

 _Dead_.

By _his_ hand.

His hands—his hands trembled dangerously in their place on the weapon, in their place from where they had not moved, yet the gun had still fired.

Why— _how_ had it fired? He didn’t— _he didn’t_ —so _how had it fired?_

Shouts from the princess broke through the barriers of his mind. Angry—she was _angry_. She had given an order and he had disobeyed and now she was _angry_. But she had a right to be, didn't she? He must’ve done something wrong. He must’ve made a mistake because it’s always him who fucks up—him who’s at fault.

In the end, it’s always _him_.

Vaguely, he registered that he was speaking, defending himself against her accusations though he had no idea what he was saying. He had no idea what he could possibly say to defend his mistake and assure them he’s on their side, but he continued speaking because surely that’s what they were thinking, right? Once a villain, always a villain? Perhaps this was what they had been waiting for since the very beginning—waiting for him to screw up so they would have an excuse to be rid of him. Waiting for him to screw up so they could prove he had never really changed.

So he spoke in case they were the last words he had before they turned on him once more—before they abandoned him and decided he wasn’t worth their time—that he had never been worth it.

But then—there was a tremulous crack and suddenly the amber shattered into a million crystal shards and flew through the air with mocking shouts of glee. And—and— _and the amber had broken—the amber had broken!_ How had the amber broken, _now_ , when he had tried for months to do just that without success?

Her voice filled the air, an alluring whisper whose arms reached out like claws, carrying the threat of death to all those who stood before her.

Something had changed. In those short moments between her final gasping breath and explosive reunion with freedom, something had terribly changed.

And it was his fault.

Right?

“Project Obsidian, huh? Zhan Tiri was right.”

“Cassandra—” Rapunzel’s own voice broke on the name, still clinging desperately to the last vestiges of hope she may have still had for the chance to make amends. But, surely, she realized that thread had been severed—if not all those months ago when her handmaiden first stole the powers of the moon, then undoubtedly within these last minutes.

Peace was gone.

“You want me to be the bad guy? Fine. _Now I’m the bad guy.”_

Ignoring Rapunzel’s cry, Cassandra threw a vial to the stone ground, the glass breaking upon impact. A fog of blue smoke clouded the air, thickening in the princess’s throat as her vision went dark.

“No! Rapunzel!” Eugene’s shout of horror spurred their audience into action. As the captain rushed forward with Max towards the fallen princess, guards began their attack, wielding swords and tossing nets over the enemy, while citizens fled for the chance to live another day.

Eugene lifted Rapunzel from the ground, taking only a fraction of a second to be sure she was still breathing before he placed her gently onto the horse’s back. “Max, Pascal—get the princess out of here! Now!”

The animals had only just made their retreat when a blunted black rock shot forth from the ground and barreled into the man’s unsuspecting body. He collapsed with a shout of pain as Cassandra wielded the rocks again to rid herself of the net. In moments, indestructible cages wrapped themselves around the guards, rendering them helpless in the coming fight.

“Cassandra! Please, this is your home!” Varian’s voice was feeble, wavering ever so slightly as he battled the visions pervading his mind.

_Growing amber—indestructible stone that moved as though it were alive, but ironically brought nothing but the promise of death._

_His father’s eyes, widened with shock—with fear—fear of his fate, fear of his son—_

_And shouts!_

_Shouts of agony and of his own name and of pain! The shouts of dying men and women and children as they were felled by his actions—by his hand. It was his fault. It had always been his fault._

And this—this was his fault, too. _Of course he had never changed!_ What a fool he had been to believe he could. What a fool they had all been to place their trust in him.

Him—a villain, a menace, a monster.

His chest was tight, caving in on itself as the scaffolding holding him together, at last, came crumbling down.

_His fault—his fault—his fault—_

The air around him grew thin, every bit of precious oxygen fleeing from his grasp as though it was afraid of him, too, and he couldn't breathe— _couldn't breathe—!_ His vision was nearly black, the world spinning on an axis around him until he wondered which way was up and whether he was even standing anymore.

The echoes of more shouts thrummed in his ears, but they were no longer the silent reminiscences of his haunting nightmares—no, they were real, but they sounded far away—underwater, over mountains—and he could not place from whom they came.

_“Varian!”_

They were the yells of the princess as he used her for his own gain—as he tethered her to a drill with her own hair and he drained the life from within her, ignoring her groans and ignoring her pain because no pain could match that which gripped his own heart.

_“Kid! ...snap out…”_

They were the yells of the queen, of _Cassandra_ as he crushed them within his metal hands—as they slowly broke apart before his very eyes, yet remained so very distant because he could not truly feel them in his grasp. The only thing his hands could feel was the piercing chill of metal levers, but he commanded the sin all the same.

They were the yells of terrified citizens and crying children as he sent his dearest friend ravaging through the town square— _Ruddigar—_ oh, the horrible things he had done to the creature—the horrible things he had said and done when he was the only one to stand by him in the face of adversity—

_They were yelling and yelling and yelling and—_

“Varian!” Eugene’s grip on his arms was firm, relentless in its strength as the man pulled Varian from his reverie.

All at once, the darkness fled from his vision, allowing Varian to see the man before him—to see the utter panic that adorned his features, the fear that bled from his eyes. Fear of Cassandra?

Fear of him?

The shouts of distant memories shrouding his senses dissipated, allowing him to hear the very real shouts reverberating around him as citizens fled from the courtyard. His bones rattled with every earthquake that rocked the lands as black rocks erupted forth at the call of their mistress.

As the gears in his mind and body struggled to bring him fully to the present, Eugene continued speaking, “You gotta get out of here, kid. Go with Lance and the others.”

“B—but—” Everything was moving too fast, too suddenly. The air was still thin, barely providing enough sustenance to his lungs and his head was throbbing—there was too much noise, too many sounds penetrating his ears and he just wanted it to stop—stop— _stop—_

He tightened his grip, looking for anything to ground his body before he floated away, but his fingers felt the touch of cold metal. His gaze immediately dropped from Eugene, completely shutting him out once more despite the man’s continued words, and the world went silent. The screams—the vibrations—the motions—all of it fell away until he could only hear the pounding of blood in his ears and see the contraption resting in his hands.

_The gun—_

Why was he still holding the gun? Why was it still here? It—it had caused enough damage—it—he still had no idea how it had fired, but it had made things worse and it was his fault, so why was he still fucking holding it?

A gloved hand covered his own, fingers moving to loosen his grip on the weapon. His eyes darted upward again to see a heavy sadness in Eugene’s face. And, suddenly, the tightness in his chest was no longer due to the thin air, but rather a result of a deep swell of emotion in his gut that wrapped its own fingers around his heart, cradling the beating organ gently until it was encompassed.

Tears pricked at his eyes, throat closing with the grief and sadness and guilt that washed over him. With his gaze still locked on the captain—someone he had come to view as an older brother—he opened his mouth, hesitantly at first, then again, though the words seemed loathe to escape.

“I—”

 _It’s my fault_ , he longed to say. It certainly wasn't a secret. It certainly was exactly what Eugene was thinking, as well. How could he think anything else?

But before he could release his confession to the world, the same gloved hand moved from his own to rest on his shoulder, instead, before snaking around to firmly grip the back of his neck in some display of comfort—in some hope to pass on a shadow of strength to the withering boy.

And that was all it took. The dam broke, lifting the barrier on the flood of emotions boiling within, and out poured hot tears from glittering blue eyes that shone with raw agony and pain. His shoulders trembled minutely, but Varian did not make a sound.

He heard Eugene let out a weighted sigh before the fingers were back, dancing on his cheek to wipe away the crystal drops. “Kid…”

“I’m sorry! I—I’m sorry, Eugene...I didn’t—I—I don't know how—but now—it—it’s my fault and—”

“Hey, hey—kid, look at me.” He paused, drawing the boy’s gaze to his own.

They were short of time—sitting ducks in a pond about to blow as the battle waged on around them—but Eugene could not let this kid continue on with these thoughts a moment more. Cassandra be damned, he had to fix this first.

“This is not your fault, Varian. I don’t care what happened with the amber and I don't believe for a second that that was ever your intent. It was an accident. Cassandra’s actions are nothing of your doing, okay? This is on her—not you.”

Blue eyes studied the man’s face intensely for what felt like an hour, staring deep into the brown pools as though searching for any hint of deception or mistruth. And after finding none, his lips quirked up in the beginnings of a smile, parting to speak some expression of gratitude, or perhaps another apology, still, but they did not have the chance.

The earth shook with a tremulous roar as another wave of rocks broke through the surface. Before Eugene and Varian could react, a single, large blunt rock struck their frames with a harsh blow, knocking the two off their feet.

Project Obsidian slipped from Varian’s grasp and he had only a second to watch its rapid descent before it hit the ground and shattered into pieces.

He did not mourn its demise.

“Sorry to crash the party, boys.” Her voice was like venom—her fangs sinking into their flesh and sending a wicked heat coursing through their veins that set fire to their very bones.

Staggering to his feet, Eugene stepped between Varian and the moonstone’s wielder, expression tainted with an overwhelming fury very few had ever seen grace his features before. “Cassandra, stand down! I am putting a stop to this right now.”

The raw anger in his voice provoked an unrestrained flinch in the boy behind him, but it did not daunt their foe. Instead, Cassandra only bellowed a deep laugh as her smile turned deadly, “This ought to be good!”

From beside her, the shadow blade rose to meet her fingertips and her grip closed around its base, drawing the unbreakable sword into a ready position.

Ready to fight. Ready to kill.

“Cass—please, you are like a sister to—”

“Save it!” And with the blow of those bladed words, too, swung the blade of her sword.

Eugene only just managed to draw his own weapon in time to stop its descent before the metal could unceremoniously expose his innards. It was no matter, however, as his sword was nothing in the face of magic.

The black rocks were neverending in their uprooting from the earth, merciless as they struck his unprotected figure and sent the captain stumbling again and again. One particularly rough hit sent Eugene to the ground with a resounding crack. His breath wheezed as he fought for air, face tightly pinched in agony as he clutched at his likely bruised, if not cracked, ribs.

Unable to stand and watch the man be beaten for _his_ mistake, Varian rushed forward to place himself between Eugene and Cassandra. “Stop, stop! Cassandra—I’m the one who built Project Obsidian. Okay? I was holding it! This is _my fault_ , so take it out on me!”

The girl only sent him a withering glare as she shoved him hard on the shoulder. “Sorry, kid. But my fight’s not with you.”

Varian, however, wasn't willing to stand down so easily. Grabbing her wrist as she brushed past him, he ground out harshly through gritted teeth, “Maybe it should be.”

Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn't for her to swing the blade on him—though, he supposed, that had been exactly what he asked for. The flat end of the shadow blade struck his temple while, as he stumbled backwards, blinking the sudden array of stars from his vision, another rock collided with his chest with a resounding crack.

It took only a second for the boy to crumble to the ground, suddenly boneless, as every fiber of his being cried out in agony.

For all her rage and commitment to war, the sudden turn of events seemed to shock her—to draw her forth from the red veil she had been trapped behind. She stumbled just as he did, though the blow that sent her reeling had no physical source.

The pause in her attack left Eugene just enough opportunity to rush to Varian’s side and gather the kid into his arms, before bolting from the courtyard.

He wanted to fight—by God, did he want to stand and fight this girl he could no longer recognize because there was so much more on the line than his own life—but he did not have a choice.

The moment Cassandra had struck Varian down, Eugene’s choice had been stolen, for this was no longer someone he could get through to. If she went down, she would go down fighting and Eugene couldn't risk losing Varian or anyone else in the crossfire.

His only remaining option was to retreat—to flee and lick their wounds and devise a new plan of action for another day.

He would not lose this kid _now_ —not after everything he had been through.

Varian was frighteningly limp in his arms, allowing each twist and turn in their mad dash for safety to jostle him without protest, head lolling listlessly against his chest.

They ran for what felt like miles until the kingdom of Corona became only a speck in the distance, nearly obscured by the wall of black rocks covering every surface like an impenetrable barricade.

Corona had fallen.

But they had not. They would rise another day to reclaim their home, for all that falls can lift, once more, to greater heights.

Corona had fallen, but she was not lost.

And until then…

Eugene slowed his pace, stopping for a moment to turn his attention to the boy in his arms. Varian’s eyes were unfocused, but he was still conscious. A line of blood trailed in small rivulets, one down his temple and another across his forehead—no doubt from the blow Cassandra had dealt him.

“Hey, kid—you with me?”

The boy turned his head slightly, just enough to meet Eugene’s gaze. As the wound brushed against the captain’s jacket, Varian winced, lifting a lethargic hand to inspect the source of pain, but Eugene halted the motion.

“Let it be, kid. You took a nasty hit, but you’re gonna be fine. Just gotta stay awake for a little while, alright? Just keep your eyes open and on me, then you can get some rest later.”

Varian nodded, though the man doubted he understood more than a word or two in this state.

The pair continued their travels, slower this time, towards the Snuggly Duckling where he was sure the rest who managed to escape had gone for shelter. Night fell around them, casting shadows on every tree and around every bend. The moon glowed brightly in the sky, lighting the ground just enough to guide their path. A chill swept through the air, making Varian shudder and curl further into Eugene’s arms, who, in turn, tightened his hold on the boy. The darkness was pierced by the captain’s voice, loud in the silent woods, as he spoke of fantastical tales and grand adventures—anything to stave off the growing weariness sinking its claws into the boy.

Lights in the distance sent Eugene’s heart stuttering, renewed vigor driving his legs forward at the promise of warmth and safety—at the promise of rejoining Rapunzel’s side.

Glancing down, he could see Varian’s eyes drooping more and more, dark lashes fluttering gently. The trail of blood was stark against his pale skin. He reached a hand up to pat against his cheeks, bringing the boy back into the shallows of consciousness.

“Eyes open, kid. We’re almost there.”

His heart clenched as Varian’s head fell to the side once more, barely maintaining his grasp on awareness. _Almost there—almost there—_

The wooden door swung open with a fierce shove, startling the crowd huddled within the candle-lit tavern. It took only a moment of silent observation of the weary captain and addled boy for a figure to rush forward.

Quirin was at his son’s side in an instant, hands quick to gather the boy into his own arms and gently cradle his small form. One hand reached up to brush back his bangs, eyes methodically studying the blood on his skin and in his hair before raising to meet Eugene’s own.

“Captain...what happened to my son?”

The younger man released a hesitant sigh, hands wringing one another now that they were no longer occupied. “It was Cassandra, sir. She was attacking us and Varian tried to draw her attention away from me. He risked himself to protect me.”

The two held a sustained look, passing a hundred words of guilt and gratitude between one another, before Quirin broke their gaze to look back down to the boy in his arms. He softly stroked Varian’s cheek, prompting blue eyes to pry themselves open against the heavy force of gravity and stare back up at his father. A smile graced his bloodless lips.

“D—dad…”

“I’m here, son. I’m here. You did good out there today.”

“I—I did?” The shock in his voice broke Quirin and Eugene’s hearts. After all this time, he still doubted himself so much—still had so little faith that he could ever do good and be recognized for it. He still felt that he had to work himself to death just to be welcomed at all in the kingdom.

He couldn't see how much he was cared for.

“You did. I’m very proud of you, Varian.” And if Quirin’s voice cracked ever so faintly as he repeated the words he knew the boy forever longed to hear, well, only Eugene would know.

Varian’s lips twitched more deeply at that, drawing up into a bright smile that reached his unfocused eyes for just a moment. For just a moment, the warmth of pride and joy was palpable between father and son.

Then Varian’s eyes slipped shut, his head rolled to the side, and he fell into darkness.

* * *

_The distant chimes of voices led him from the inky blackness he had been swimming aimlessly in. Varian’s eyes peeled open, blinking several times, but the darkness did not recede from his vision. It must’ve still been night._

_He turned his head to the side, hoping to find his father or even Rapunzel and Eugene, but he could see nothing more than the vague outline of his own hand a couple of inches from his face._

_Was there not even a candle burning in...in…_

_Where was he?_

_Rolling onto his chest, Varian clambered to his hands and knees, reaching out to find purchase on anything around him, but he could find nothing. No furniture—no bodies—nothing._

_The voices grew louder, though muffled still as though they were underwater. They morphed into one continuous vibration that penetrated his skull so sharply, he could not contain the wince. His head was throbbing._

_Carefully, with both arms out to steady himself in the darkness, he climbed to his feet, taking a moment to gather his bearings before taking the first step forward—or...in whatever direction it was that he moved._

_One arm remained outstretched, fingers trailing through the air in hopes to graze against something that could tell him his location—or if there was anyone else there. “Hello?” His voice echoed in the vast chambers, lost to the void of his surroundings. “Hello? Is anyone there?”_

_His feet continued on, moving him farther and farther into the depths of this world while bringing the voice closer. If he could find whoever was speaking, perhaps they could point him in the direction of home._

_He did not stop and he did not falter, picking up the pace ever so slightly should there be any chance to leave this place sooner. Closer he strode to the voice—closer—and its volume rose higher and higher and higher and—_

_And he stopped, feet so suddenly glued in place, he nearly toppled forward. He hadn't recognized it in the beginning, being so far away from the sound, but now it was unmistakable._

_The ceaseless ringing of voices in his mind were not voices at all but were screams. Loud, piercing screams that spoke of treacherous agony and terror and they were calling for him! The screams—they were screaming his name!_

_“Varian!”_

_Did he recognize the voice? Did it sound familiar?_

_His feet carried forward once more, faster now, breaking into a run as Varian longed to find this tortured soul. Who could be calling for him? Were they injured?_

_He twisted and turned, blindly sprinting through the darkness that encompassed him, but no covered distance seemed to bring him any closer. So he ran and he ran, pushing forward against the burn in his thighs and continuing on despite the heaving of his lungs._

_He had to know—he had to find them—he—_

_All at once, the darkness gave way to an amber glow, appearing so suddenly he did not have the time to stop before his form slammed into the hard stone. He fell back, crashing to the floor with a pained gasp._

_His eyes squinted, unaccustomed to the bright light after being stuck in a void of black, but widened very rapidly as his brain slowly processed the object before him._

_It was an amber mausoleum, crackling and shrieking as it continued to grow, and at its very center was his father._

_His father—whose arm was outstretched, reaching for him, and whose eyes were wide with terror. His mouth hung open in an endless scream, but his voice was no more as the amber had since covered his head._

_He had been calling for Varian—crying out for help—but he hadn't come. He hadn't made it in time to stop his father from drowning in the impenetrable stone._

_He hadn't made it._

_It was his fault._

_He opened his mouth to speak—to cry—to apologize and beg for forgiveness—but another voice sounded before he could. It, too, was familiar—feminine._

_Rapunzel._

_The—the princess! She could help, she could fix this! Of that, Varian was sure. So with one lasting gaze towards his father and a silent plea that he would forgive his sin, the boy turned and fled back into the darkness._

_He ran in the direction of her voice, uncaring of each stumble and stagger that threatened to slow his pace. Around him, the darkness persisted but the air grew frigid. Thin pellets of something cold stung his skin as he was suddenly thrust into a world of snow and wind and ice. His hands and legs were going numb, the blood sluggish in his veins, but he did not stop—could not stop until he reached civilization._

_Someone was calling for him—there was someone he was trying to find. He kept moving, never slowing, because there was someone he was supposed to save—someone important, but the memory was stuck just behind a veil in his mind._

_He burst through the castle doors, leaving behind the darkness and the snow, running through the halls as though he had done this all before. The voices grew closer and closer, guiding him down corridors and around bends._

_Closer and closer and closer—_

_One final turn led him to exactly who he was searching for, but—but—_

_Rapunzel and Eugene stood in the center of the hall, hands clutched in one another's and eyes clenched shut against the amber stone they were suspended in._

_They—but—the storm! His father had been trapped and he had sought help from the princess, but this wasn't how it had gone, was it? She—she hadn't been hurt—hadn't been trapped like this. He—he was sure of that, but—_

_There was no denying the picture before him: two figures holding the other close as they succumbed to the hands of death._

_And it had been his fault, right? Just like his father, this—this was his doing!_

_Varian staggered backwards, stumbling as though some unseen force had thrust him away from the scene of the crime, but tumbled to the floor as his legs gave out from under him. A subtle groaning from above drew his attention to the sky, gaze flickering upwards just in time to catch the glint of light on the silver blade of a guillotine before it dropped in a direct path for his throat._

_He rolled to the side, heart grinding to a halt at the sudden proximity of death as he silently prayed the blade would miss its mark, but found his movement stopped within a foot by the appearance of bars. But—but they weren't the bars of his old cell...they were made of stone. Of—rocks?_

_His eyes adjusted to the new environment just enough to make out the familiar bars of a familiar cage made of black rocks. But...how—?_

_Before he could make sense of his sudden appearance in Cassandra’s tower, his cage jolted and began to move—to retreat back into the daunting structure that leered over him. The comfort of daylight escaped his grasp as he was drawn into the darkness of the tower, allowing him only a moment to mourn its loss before her voice penetrated the stagnant air._

_“You could've saved me.”_

_She appeared from the hazy mist around him, voice reaching his ears before he could locate the source of it. Glowing blue hair embraced her pale face, matching blue eyes piercing his own, his very soul. She radiated power. She radiated hate._

_“You could’ve saved me.”_

_“C—Cass? What—”_

_“You could've saved me. You could've led me out of the darkness, but you chose to shove me into its depths.” She stalked towards him, black armor glistening in the reflective rocks around him. He matched each step with a backwards one of his own._

_She scoffed maliciously at his retreat, “What a surprise. You—running away from your problems. Just like you always do. It’s so much easier to run and blame others. You’re too much of a coward to face them yourself—letting others suffer in your place. It’s your fault.”_

_She was an arm’s length from him and, still, he stepped back, only to feel his heels dip in the nothingness behind him. He stood at the edge of her tower, back facing empty air. He had nowhere to run._

_“It’s time you stop running, Varian. Everything is your fault.”_

_Cassandra moved a single step closer, gloved hand reaching up to grasp the handle of her sword. Varian winced at the echoing sound of the blade being unsheathed, afraid to look away even as her own eyes glanced down at the weapon in her grip. She adjusted it slightly, moving to steady it in both hands before her glowing eyes flickered up to his to give only a moment’s notice before she swung the blade._

_He tried to jump back beyond its reach but found his feet immobile—his body completely helpless to stop the coming blow—_

_But it never came. Instead, what should have been the sounds of his screams was replaced with a torturous keening sound—with the sounds of crackling stone and choking breaths. He released the air he had been holding, taking a moment to relish his continued life, before turning his gaze back to the one who would have struck him down._

_She is encompassed in amber—the deadly stone worming its way around her body and her outstretched hands that bore no weapon. The sword—it—it was gone. She had never planned to wield it—she—she was only seeking peace. And he—_

_He turned his eyes to the ground, only half pleading to find emptiness in the place of what he knew was in his arm._

_Project Obsidian was clutched in his grasp, the barrel directed towards Cassandra. He had fired it. She hadn't done anything and he had fired it. She had been looking to make amends and he had fired it._

_Cassandra’s eyes met his own, her expression of utter terror and agony one he would not soon forget._

_“You could’ve saved me.” She was crying now, slightly—the smallest river of tears trekking down her cheeks as she sunk below the amber’s growing height. “You could’ve saved me.”_

_He stepped forward, a hand reaching out and her name on his lips._

_But then the amber was shattering into a million crystal shards that ripped their way through his flesh and sent him staggering backwards over the edge of the tower and he was falling—falling—falling—_

* * *

Varian jolted awake, a silent scream on his tongue as he shot upright from the wooden floor of the tavern. Wide, blue eyes darted around the darkened room, pausing at every sleeping figure they landed on, while his heart drummed a thundering beat in his chest. One hand reached up to cover his mouth, hoping to stem the shuddering breaths wracking his frame as the last vestiges of the nightmare fled his mind.

_Only a dream. It had only been a dream._

After a moment of unsuccessfully staving off the rising panic in his chest, Varian stood on shaky legs and eased his way quietly to the door, looking back for a short second before slipping out into the frosty night.

He sucked in a deep breath of the midnight air, taking a moment to simply bask in the moonlight and let his fears fall aside. As his heart eased back into a steady rhythm, his hand reached to grab ahold of the doorknob and go back inside before he was missed—though he was certain there would be no more sleep for him that night—, but he let it fall away before it made contact.

Without much thought, his feet carried him further from the tavern, striding to the cliffside to find a seat on a fallen tree where he could look out over the vast lands that lay below.

Corona sat in the distance, unfamiliar to his eyes with the canopy of black rocks nearly obscuring the kingdom from sight. Varian released a heavy sigh, eyes falling to his lap as an unbearable guilt washed over him.

This was his fault.

He had caused this.

And he had no idea how to make it right.

An unexpected hand on his shoulder sent the boy to his feet with a startled yelp before a slim hand covered his mouth. His vision cleared to meet the green eyes of Rapunzel. They shared a momentary look before silently finding a seat once more on the log.

“Princess? I—I didn't know you were awake, I—are you alright? After Cassandra…”

“I’m okay, Varian.” A sad smile adorned her lips, eyes bright with an emotion he felt she wished to hide from him. She need not bothered, however—he could recognize the claws of guilt anywhere. “I woke up actually not too long after you had passed out.”

“Oh.” He did not know what to say to her, and it appeared she hadn't a clue, either. Usually, conversation with the princess was easy—or, at least, had been easier in the last year since her return. But tonight...there was so much he longed to say but had no idea how to say any of it.

Was she angry? Did she blame him?

She seemed lost, almost, eyes staring through the distance to land on her kingdom, but it was as if she wasn't really seeing it. That sad smile never left her lips.

They sat like that, for hours or for minutes, simply allowing the silence of the night and the cool air to drift between them with no pressure to relieve the tension.

“I really thought I could get her back.” Her voice startled him, having been so lost in thought he nearly forgot she was still there.

“I thought—if I could just show her I still cared, still was trying to help her, I could get her back. That’s all you had wanted, after all. But it seems, no matter what I do, I’m destined to lose those around me.”

His heart clenched at her words, guilt and grief and anger—anger at Cassandra, anger at himself—boiled deep within his gut. She didn't deserve this pain. She had never deserved it. He wished, if only for a moment, there was some way he could take it all away from her.

She was too good, too kind.

He was anything but. He deserved the pain more than she.

But he did not know how to make this better for her, did not know how to take away her pain because he had put it there without creating the cure. All he could do was follow her gaze to the home she could no longer call home that she had lost to a friend she could no longer call a friend, and he grasped her hand in his own.

“I guess both our fears came true, in a way.”

She sighed. “Yeah… I guess they did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have copied a little too much of certain segments from Steady Beats… I was short on time, what can I say *sweats*


	6. First Snow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: first snow  
> ...
> 
> It’s been three years since the blizzard that stole his father and sent him tumbling down a darkened path of hate. But he’s moved on. He’s forgiven and forgotten.
> 
> So the first snow to hit Corona since that day shouldn’t be a big deal. And it certainly shouldn't be digging up memories and old feelings that were better left buried.

It first appeared as a chill in the air—a frigid wind that swept in from the sea and over the lands like a rolling tide. Every leaf and blooming flower curled in on itself in the sudden cold and every creature of the forest ran for the trees, seeking shelter from the coming storm. Clouds gathered in the sky above, darkening with a foreboding threat and littering the ground with shadows that seemed to mingle in every corner and dance along the cobblestone streets.

It was a sight that had not been seen since three years prior, but the memories surged forth with little delay, jumping to the forefront of the mind as though it had never really been buried at all. The eyes of the people turned upward, seeking the rays of the sun that lingered for only a moment before disappearing behind the clouds, leaving behind an ominous feeling of unease.

It hadn't snowed in Corona since that day—that day that felt both so long ago and as though no time had ever passed. The blizzard had been stopped within a few days and the threat of Zhan Tiri had been vanquished the year before.

But they would never forget the fear that wracked their nerves as the snow started and never stopped.

They would never forget the pain that followed the storm at the hands of a young boy.

* * *

His hands were steady—fingers carefully wrapped around the pipet and elbows braced on the table’s surface as his eyes narrowed in concentration, watching the drop of fluorescent chemicals cling to the glass surface as he silently encouraged the liquid to drop into the beaker below.

With the winter holidays rapidly approaching, Varian was desperate to, at last, find success in his hot water tanks—to bring warm, running water to the castle. It was the least he could do _now_ , after all he had done before.

Absolution, he might call it.

Redemption.

They could call it a Christmas present.

And so he kept working, allowing his hands to continuously drift back and forth along the array of scattered beakers and scribbled notes with the hopes that this latest attempt would be the last.

The world around him fell away, sound draining into silence as he zeroed in on the project before him. This time he would do it—this time he would get it _right_. His fingers tightened ever so slightly, eyes never straying from their target as he aimed for only a single drop to fall from the pipet’s tip.

Gently— _gently—_

The hand on his shoulder appeared from nowhere, an unexpected weight that sent a shock through his system and made him jump with a startled yelp. His fingers clenched tightly in his fright, forcing the entire pipet of flynnolium into the beaker of boiling water and giving him only a span of seconds to widen his eyes and shout some semblance of a warning to his visitor before it exploded.

He heard a gasp from behind as he threw his hands up to shield his face, only partly aware of the heat that settled against his forearm, soaking through the fabric of his shirt quickly and immediately greeting him with a stinging pain that was, thankfully, subtle enough that he could ignore it until a more convenient time.

Though that did nothing to alleviate the disappointment that burned in his gut at another failed attempt.

_Fourth time and counting._

When the liquid stopped falling and the steam cleared, Varian lowered his goggles and turned, at last, to face his unexpected guest.

Rapunzel’s eyes were wide and bright with shock, her hands tucked in close to her body as they nervously fretted with her hair. It was a sight he was used to seeing—the princess being so rattled, that is. Even in the face of her greatest fears and adversities, she had always been incredibly calm and collected.

So he was almost afraid to wonder what had managed to slip its way beneath her skin and set her nerves alight.

“Is...is something wrong, princess?”

“What? No—no, of course not! Everything’s fine.” Her face showed a pleasant grin, but the breathiness of her voice was enough to chip away at the bricks of her facade. It was frightening, sometimes, just how _good_ Rapunzel was at hiding her true feelings.

Varian figured it was only his own tendency to do the same that allowed him to see beneath the mask.

He almost laughed. _What a pair they were._

“I—I only came to see how you were doing, is all. You’ve been pretty busy down here in your lab lately, I feel like I don’t see much of you anymore.”

This time he did laugh—albeit, a slight nervous chuckle that sent heat flooding to his cheeks as he turned away to avoid her sudden interest. He had hoped the time of year would escape them, though, in retrospect, he supposed he should have realized Rapunzel would never be so blind to the upcoming anniversary.

It was certainly an unfavorable one to them all—weighing heavily on their minds for reasons alike and not.

“You know me, heh...always keeping busy. Things to build—reactions to test—there’s a lot more I can do now since Royal Engineer grants me access to far superior tools and elements than what I had before. In fact, just before you arrived, I was getting _really close_ to—” but the words died on his tongue when the boy turned his head once more to gaze upon his friend.

It was easy to see his words weren't being heard at all. Rapunzel’s gaze was downturned, locked on her fiddling hands, her eyes unmoving and unfocused on the world in front of her.

Moving away from his workspace to stand in front of her, Varian noticed the way her brow was furrowed in tension, no doubt a testament to the thoughts running rampant inside her skull.

“Rapunzel?”

She seemed to startle at the proximity of his voice, apparently not having noticed his quiet approach. “Oh, I’m sorry Varian, I—I just have a lot on my mind. Please, you were saying?”

He bit his lip, a little unsure of what to do and entirely out of his depth. “Princess...if you ever need to talk about something...I know I might not be your first choice, but I’m here to listen.”

When she did not move, did not even lift her eyes from the ground, he raised a hand—reaching out to—to comfort her? To bring her back to awareness? He wasn't entirely sure. But before he made contact, he froze in midair.

_How foolish he was!_ He was certainly the last person she needed right now—the last person she would ever wish to talk with about the thoughts plaguing her. She didn't want him because—because he knew exactly what was bothering her, exactly what memories were stuck on repeat in her mind.

_Him. His shouts echoing through the empty, castle corridors. His hands on her arms—shaking her—accusing her—hurting her—_

“On—on second thought, I’m gonna go find Eugene.” His feet stumbled as he hesitantly backed away from her, the hand that had nearly burned her skin still lifted to the sky in some display of confession—of remorse for the pain he did not seem to be able to stop bringing. “I’ll find Eugene, princess, and you can talk to him because I know I—”

“It’s snowing.”

The words were quiet, yet rang with deafening clarity in the vast chambers they were in. His feet ground to a sudden halt, nearly sending him toppling backwards in his sudden cessation of movement. His breath hitched in his chest.

“Wh—what? I—”

“It’s snowing.” The second time around, her voice was steadier, stronger. She spoke as though she hadn't just brought their world tumbling down around them.

“Oh.” It’s all he could say, at first. All he could force from the confines of his throat because he didn’t know how else to react—what else he could say or do to make the realization not so devastating and suddenly it made a lot more sense: why Rapunzel was so on edge, why her thoughts seemed to be swirling at a rate too fast to comprehend, why she had come—

Well, he supposed it didn't explain why she had come to him. After all, he should be the last person she wanted to see at this time.

But it was snowing. _It was approaching three years and now it was snowing for the—_

“It’s the first time since…”

“Since the blizzard.” She did not hesitate to finish his sentence, making it perfectly clear just how aligned their thoughts were in that moment. Of course the approaching day hadn't escaped her notice. Of course she realized just how catastrophic the bomb would be when its timer ran out.

The silence sat heavily between them.

Varian hated the way his gut lurched with the news. He hated the way his lungs constricted in his chest, as though they were reluctant to sustain him a moment longer with air when they knew— _they knew_ what world awaited them beyond these walls. He hated the way his skin seemed to crawl with an itch he couldn't locate and every fiber of his being just felt so _wrong_.

He had no reason to feel this way. Not really.

It was just a little snow. He’s seen it several times before—played in it, actually, when he was younger. The last time it had snowed was...during a dark time in his life, but that never had anything to do with the weather! It wasn't the snow that had trapped his father—it wasn't the snow that turned him down a path of hate—

Looking at Rapunzel’s bloodless pallor, he reasoned it made sense for her to feel uneasy in the snow. It made sense for her to be so affected because her bad memories were a direct result of the storm. That was the night she had almost lost her parents to it—the night she had almost lost her entire kingdom. Her fear was appropriate.

_Him?_

He was just pathetic.

“I—” she had to swallow, briefly, to stifle the tremor in her voice as she spoke again. “I just wanted to come see how you were doing, I guess. I know if I have so much on my mind with the coming date, then I can’t even _imagine_ what—”

“I’m _fine_ , princess.” Varian’s own retort was harsher than necessary, sharp in tone like the blade of a sword, slicing through the atmosphere between them. The way she flinched, though, made his own innards twist with guilt. He tried again, gentler, “Really, I’m okay. I—I was just working on a project here, then was planning to head back to Old Corona to finish a few repairs to the house while my dad is in the Dark Kingdom, I—I’ll be okay.”

It was with those final words, though, that Rapunzel looked back at him—truly _looked_ at him.

Varian longed to look away, to break the stare that was pinning him in place because it suddenly felt like she was seeing right through him, deep into his bones and mind and witnessing every memory wracking his brain in that very moment.

“Why don't you stay here for the holidays?”

“I—” The question was simple. One that should easily be answered with no second thought, but Varian found he didn't quite have any response to give. None that made sense, at least. Since becoming the Royal Engineer, he had always been welcome in the castle—had been welcome even before his title, if he spoke truthfully. He had a lab, he had a room. In all senses of the word, the castle was his home.

But there was something so deep inside him that felt the thought was _wrong_.

It was wrong of him to stay here in the very place from where he had been tossed out. It was wrong to stay here when the anniversary of that day was nearly upon them. It was wrong to stay and laugh and celebrate with the very people who had denied him and—and he had to be home—at his _real_ home, where it was just him and his father and he—he had to make sure his father was _safe, that he wasn't trapped in—_

Oh.

But his father wasn’t home. And his father wasn't in danger because that had been _three_ _years ago._ And he had no reason to despise the castle or its people because it was a home to him now and he had forgiven and been forgiven.

Hadn’t he?

He turned once more to meet Rapunzel’s gaze—to see the wavering expression that adorned her face, resting atop a foundation that was beginning to groan and crack under the strain of a thousand burdens—and he _knew_. He knew his anger with her had been resolved. He knew the resentment he had once felt for her and her people and her kingdom was misguided and misplaced. They had both made mistakes and done things they could not take back, but they had _grown_.

For better or for worse, they had grown and they had forgiven and had found a new home in each other.

And no storm or tidal wave of memories could rip apart the sutures and break open old wounds because the damage done had been healed.

So with his own tremulous grin, Varian reached out to take the princess’ hand and, together, they walked into the warm embrace of the castle corridors. Holly and mistletoe lined the walls while the flickering flames of candles aglow guided their path. Not far ahead, he could see the approaching form of Eugene—with several mugs of cocoa balanced in his arms—and Lance and the girls, each greeting the pair with smiles that stretched across their cheeks.

The windows to the outside world showed a darkening sky and swirling flakes of white, and while the sight sent a brief shiver down his spine, Varian did not truly feel the cold.

He did not feel the pricks of ice on his skin or hear the raging winds that ravaged the lands. He did not feel the hands of guards on his arms or feel frozen claws tearing their way through his skin or hear the desperate cries of his father as he succumbed to a tomb of his creation.

No.

He only heard the merry chimes of laughter.

And he only felt warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me why i thrive on writing self-deprecating varian.  
> _______  
>    
> I actually had an entire second scene meant to happen after this but where this ended seemed like a good conclusion. Perhaps i'll do a part 2? 
> 
> or perhaps i'll work that part into the third steady beats sequel cause that's the part im really here for >:)


	7. Free Choice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is underneath the moon that old friends collide. But it was never meant to last.
> 
> After all, traitors to Saporia pay with their lives.

An evening autumn breeze chilled the air, dancing around each twist and bend in the kingdom beneath the watchful gaze of the rising moon, free to reign as the last remnants of summer’s heat slowly withdrew from the lands.

The cobblestone streets were quiet and empty, giving way to the approaching night as families settled down in their homes to sleep. Xavier was probably wondering where he was—perhaps even suspicious that he may have forgotten to come by. But Varian knew, no doubt, that the blacksmith would still be up and awaiting his arrival, likely even still hard at work and entertaining himself with the thoughtful recounts of past legends.

Working well into the night was nothing new to the alchemist, often finding himself so entranced in his work that the clock escaped him, but the thought did nothing to appease the guilt gnawing in his chest for keeping Xavier up so late.

He certainly wouldn’t be doing so if it wasn’t entirely necessary.

Rounding the bend in the road, the blacksmith’s shop came into view from ahead, the burning candles in the windows one of the only sources of light amongst the sleeping cottages. His knock echoed in the silence, going unanswered just long enough that Varian began to worry the man had fallen asleep himself before the door, at last, opened.

Xavier greeted him with a warm smile stretch across dark cheeks, already moving one hand to gesture him in while the other was dusting soot off his apron.

“Varian, m’boy, I was beginning to grow worried. Please—come in.”

The heat of the burning forge was the first thing Varian felt as he stepped inside the cozy shop, it’s fingers curling around his body in an embrace of warmth and welcome.

“Yeah, er—sorry about that, Xaves. The meeting with Eugene and the king went a little longer than expected. King Frederic was hesitant to agree to my plan for the bars, but since you sent word agreeing with the solution…”

“It was nothing of my doing, Varian. It was your intelligence that suggested adding carbon resources to the iron to create steel for the prison bars.”

He couldn't stop the slight heat that flooded his face, eyes flickering downward in embarrassment at the compliment—though his chest swelled with something akin to pride all the same. But Varian’s brows quickly furrowed as his gaze rose once more to meet Xavier’s, muttering quietly, “I just wish I knew what caused the metal to corrode so quickly in the first place. Eugene said he had been down to the prison himself only the week prior and there was no sign of anything being wrong. And it should take a lot longer than a couple of days for the bars to show as much damage as they do.

“I just—I can't help but feel like I’m missing something.”

“This certainly reminds me of the legend of Lady Pomona and the warlock prisoner who used his powers to escape under the ruse of mechanical failure in the castle. It is said that—”

“Wait, wait...are you saying this could all be a scheme for one of Corona’s prisoners to escape?” The thought sent a chilling shiver down Varian’s spine. There were certainly a few prisoners in the dungeons holding grudges against Rapunzel and Eugene. If one of them were planning to break out…

“Alas, I cannot say for certain. It is, perhaps, a thought to keep in the back of our minds and bring up to the captain tomorrow, for, should the theory prove true, this could mean a serious threat for the royal family.”

Silence settled around them momentarily as Varian was left reeling in the wake of their new dawning suspicion. If it was true...if a prisoner— _or multiple_ —were planning a prison break for some chance at revenge on the ones who had locked them up...then he needed to warn them right away! He—he needed to go back to the castle—he needed to talk to Rapunzel—he needed to keep them _safe—_

A large hand fell upon his shoulder, startling him from his reverie. Wide blue eyes moved upwards to meet calm, brown ones. Xavier’s face was soft—giving him a look he imagined was shared with one’s grandparents. It was nice. Comforting.

“Do not fret over that we do not know, m’boy. Tonight, focus on finishing the metal work, and tomorrow we will approach this with a fresh and agile mind. Never cross a bridge unless you know it has another side.”

The man tightened his grip momentarily in some gesture of reassurance to assuage his fears, heaving a quiet sigh before moving from his side to approach the door. “I will leave you to your work, Varian. Please lock up when you’re finished.”

“Wait, you—you’re leaving?”

“Would you rather I stayed?”

“No, I—” Varian wasn't quite sure what he thought exactly—couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of his surprise. He often worked better in his own company, that’s true, but he just thought… “It’s just that...there’s not too many in Corona who would be willing to leave me alone in their homes since...well…” Heat flooded his cheeks rapidly as a feeling of shame strangled his lungs.

Would he never be free of the thoughts and reminders of his past that plagued him without cessation?

The blacksmith stood still for a brief count, appearing to mull over his words, before turning back to fully face the boy before him. Their eyes locked and Varian couldn't help but note the complete sincerity pooling in his gaze.

“It matters not what most people think in this kingdom, m’boy, for I am not most people. And you have come very far from the troubled boy you once were. You have every right to be trusted and respected, and I do not doubt your integrity for even a moment.”

With that, Xavier turned for the door once more, pausing only once he reached the premise to the outside world to send one last grin his way. “Not to mention...this isn’t my home.”

And with a hearty chuckle, the door closed behind him, leaving Varian in the silence.

* * *

The hours passed in a flash, indicated only by the moon’s journey to the sky’s peak and the dimming candle flames flickering in the blacksmith’s shop as Varian continued to work well into the night, surrounded only by the sounds of his own tinkering and the warmth of the burning forge.

His limbs grew weary but his mind still buzzed with all the thoughts and fears Xavier’s timely conspiracy had awakened within him. Perhaps had he not been so distracted by the battle within him, he wouldn’t have been blind to the one brewing behind him.

Just as Varian removed the final set of bars from the forge and plunged them into the barrel of water, a large hand clamped over his mouth, effectively muting his yelp of surprise.

His senses were overwhelmed by a putrid scent of musk and sweat from the proximity of a body he did not recognize. The fingers tightened their hold until the tips dug into his cheek, threatening to break skin and draw first blood.

“It’s been a long time, ol’ _buddy_.”

And just like that—with so few words—the voice suddenly transformed into a figure of his past, drawing forth every recollection and buried memory from a place in his mind he had thought was boarded up.

_Never-ending cold—never-ending isolation—never-ending dearness—_

_Then—a friend! Someone who was like him—who knew how he felt and could chase away the loneliness—someone he could go to when the voices in his head spoke a little too harsh and the hand on his heart wrung a little too tight—_

—until that very someone turned his back and hung him off an airship with the promise of death.

_Andrew._

“Did you miss me?” The hand freed his lips only to fist itself in his hair and spin the boy around to face the man he had hoped never to see again. His other hand snatched the collar of his shirt, dangerously close and poised to strike for his bared throat.

“A—Andrew?” Varian hated how weak his voice sounded—how it cracked and crumbled with no attempt to bear the weight of his pounding heart. He hated even more how Andrew smirked in satisfaction of his fear—how his gleaming eyes seemed to be sizing his prey with a lust for his flesh and blood.

“I was almost afraid I had missed you after I found your lab empty. Royal Engineer! What a title!” Andrew leaned further in, ceasing only once his lips were right close enough to breathe hotly into his ear.

“Unfortunately I didn’t bring a gift, but you’ll find my congratulations back at the castle.”

“How—how did—”

“How did I escape?” The man threw his head back in a raucous laugh, dropping after a minute to meet his gaze with a look of dark mirth. “I’m surprised you don’t know. After all, it was only the other day that you and Eugene came to the dungeons yourselves to investigate.”

An icy dread washed over his heart so rapidly it made his breath stutter in his throat. “The bars...they were corroding...but how—how could you have anything to do with that?”

His dark eyes narrowed, never breaking the gaze held between them as Andrew pinned Varian with a look that was painfully similar to ones they had shared back when he called him friend—the looks of encouragement and faith in Varian’s mind that only now he could recognize as a ruse.

And as much as he hated to give into Andrew’s game, he could not stop the gears in his brain quickly putting the pieces in place. “Corrosion is naturally a gradual reaction of metals with oxygen, but...in some cases, it can be induced and quickened under exposure to stress, certain bacterias or particular chemicals, which...which means…” blue eyes widened extensively as the final words left his tongue and realization struck in his chest, “...you had help.”

“There he is! There’s that bright mind I remember from the good ol’ days!” The words spoke praise, but there was no mistaking the cruel mocking tone tainting Andrew’s voice.

Varian struggled briefly in his grasp, mind swirling with the implications of there being someone in the castle working right under their noses—working to release their most dangerous criminals or even to _overthrow the crown—_

At his fruitless movement, the fingers made their move, lunging for his throat and squeezing just enough to induce a pleading cry for mercy from his lungs as the oxygen escaped their grasp.

“All these brains—” the words were a growl, ripping from his throat with a hint of anger, almost, though Varian couldn’t say it was anger on his behalf. “All these brains and the princess has you on a leash as her precious little _errand boy_. I wonder how much use they’ll find in you before they toss you out with yesterday’s trash.”

“That—that’s not true, they—”

“ _Isn’t it?_ How can you be so sure they won’t take the first chance they get to be free if you? How can you be so sure they aren’t just biding their time until you screw up again?

“After all you’ve done...how can you be sure they trust you—that they even _want_ you?”

Varian was breathless—his chest tight with a constricting pain he could not blame on the grip on his throat. It wasn't true— _he knew it wasn't true._ After all, these were the very same thoughts that had plagued him every night beneath the rising moon in that first year since his redemption.

_Did they trust him? Did they care for him? Did they want him?_

He had asked himself those questions every day. And after everything they had been through—facing fears with Rapunzel, baking with Lance and the girls, becoming brothers with Eugene—facing Cassandra—defeating Zhan Tiri—

He was more than sure his past had been forgiven. He was no longer that hate-driven, anguished boy. He had changed—they all had. Of that, he had no doubt.

But the memory of his deepest fears still had enough power to give him pause, no matter how wrong he knew they were.

Though, before he could open his mouth to give Andrew the rude awakening he deserved, the man unexpectedly released his hold with a slight shove, sending Varian back a few paces towards the forge behind him.

“I suppose it doesn't matter what they may think. After all, there won’t be much left of any of you pretty soon.”

“What are you talking about?” Varian’s voice was sharp, cracking through the stagnant air as an uneasy feeling churned deep in his gut.

“Oh—you don’t think I would bust out of prison without a plan, do you? Let me tell you...there’s a lot more brewing beneath the surface of Corona’s pretty cobblestone streets than you—or even the princess is aware of. I have eyes and ears in the corridors of the castle and an army at my disposal preparing itself for the day we bring this kingdom toppling down. But first—I needed to eliminate my greatest threat.”

Andrew stepped forward, prompting Varian to match him with a step back, as a hand reached into his coat pocket and slowly pulled forth a harmless looking ball of green. “That year when you and I teamed up, kid, was a very...enlightening one. So of course, when opportunity struck, I may have _borrowed_ from your supplies of Quirinium. And with certain additions of my daily food served in prison that would act as just the right base, I was able to modify your solution to diminish the reaction enough that it will contain the explosion to a few meters of space.”

Another step and Varian was pinned to the wall just adjacent to the opening of the forge and its exposed blazing coals.

“Just enough to bring this building crashing down on top of you.” The man’s lips twisted up in a malignant smile that sent a rippling wave of nausea through his core. “Then, after I’m done with you, it’ll only be a matter of time before the rest of this kingdom and its foolish people fall, too. And unfortunately for Corona, all of this will never be known until it’s too late because it will die with _you_.”

Suddenly the walls were caving in on Varian, though the makeshift bomb was still firmly grasped in Andrew’s hand—his vision wavering and dimming as he found it increasingly difficult to breathe past the panic rising in his chest and crushing his heart into dust.

 _What could he do?_ What was there for him to do to possibly fight back against this man before him—to fight just enough to give him the chance to escape and warn the others because this was suddenly about much more than him. _Rapunzel—Eugene—the entire kingdom—_

Andrew was going to destroy them all and there was not a single thing Varian could do to stop it. At least, not in the eyes of his coming fate.

Though they could never say he didn't try, for in a split second, the boy was rushing forward in some futile attempt to slip past the other and make a break for his only refuge across the room. It was for naught, however, as Andrew immediately had him in his grasp once more, the hand snaking back to its early position around his throat and constricting around the spazzing muscles to deny entry to the air around him.

His already-swimming vision dimmed more as he struggled to rasp out what could be his final words, “W-why—why are you d-doing this?”

Andrew’s face was back within startling proximity, close enough Varian could see little else beyond his gleaming eyes and malicious smile. “I thought I told you before: traitors to Saporia pay with their lives.”

And with that, a single boot swung upward to crash into his chest with a crushing impact, sending Varian toppling to the floor—his head cracking sickeningly off a protruding stone in the forge’s structure. He laid there in a crumpled heap, fingers grappling uselessly at the wooden floorboards, his body too heavy to move any further.

The man—this man who he had once seen as a friend and who would now become his killer—flipped him harshly onto his back, seemingly relishing in the weak groans falling from his lips. “The princess can give you all the titles in the world, kid. You’ll never be worth more than the dirt on my boots.”

And as if to emphasize, Andrew brought his foot down onto Varian’s already abused throat, applying pressure just enough to send him to the verge of unconsciousness, though relenting before he could find that sweet release.

It didn't matter, though. The darkness was already calling for him, and, soon, he would be within its reach.

Andrew stepped back from the near-lifeless body, taking a moment to observe the damage he had afflicted. The skin around the kid’s throat was red, threatening, already, to turn into what would have become a nasty bruise. And if he looked close enough, he could even see the beginning trickles of a rivulet of blood emerging from Varian’s hairline where his skull had met immovable stone.

That one, at least, had been unintentional. Not that it mattered.

With a final sigh and a lasting grin, the man turned for the door, pausing just at the premise to the outside world—to the still-sleeping streets lined with houses and citizens oblivious to events occurring right next door—and he gazed back.

Varian was shifting, looking for any purchase he could find on the floor to heave his body skywards, but he had not the strength to move more than a couple of inches.

Andrew wondered if they would even find a body.

And, thus, his hand thrust out to send the ball of green careening towards the boy in an arc that carried his cruel sentence and end, and he disappeared into the night.

Blue eyes cracked open with just enough time to see it meet the floor.

There was a bright flash of green—a deafening crash—and the walls collapsed around him, sending Varian into darkness’s warm embrace, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It--it's not what it looks like, I swear! I mean...it kind of is...but it's not!  
> _______  
> (was going to have a part 2. but im marking it as complete right now because I dont know when the inspiration to write the rest will come back :)


End file.
